Tonight We'll Be Fine
by krakatit
Summary: Once, after a wild night out with Cody, Justin stumbles into the loft terribly beaten up. It's up to Brian to tend to him - in his own way. Brian/Justin, oneshot, warnings inside


**Warnings: **hate crime (bashing), homophobic language/sentiments, violence

**Timeline: **Season 4

**A/N:** I was inspired while listening to Leonard Cohen's "Tonight Will Be Fine", although I have obviously deviated a bit from the song's name. Hope you enjoy.

* * *

**Tonight**** We'll Be Fine **

In a desperate attempt to conserve some warmth, Justin clasped the coat tighter to his body and sighed. It was getting late and the night air in Pittsburgh has long ago become chilly, making both his and Cody's teeth chatter from the cold.

They have been patrolling the streets for over two hours now and Cody has decided that the two of them should move to a less frequented part of the Liberty Avenue. He reasoned that while there weren't so many people in those places, the detachment of the alleys also gave an opportunity for the bashers to do their thing without being found out. Justin was aware that it was well over one hour in the morning and he had less than two hours to return back to the loft so as not to miss the established 'curfew', but he was pretty sure that he could make it. Or at least he hoped so because for the last few days, he has already made few close calls at getting home on time and Brian always welcomed him with some snarky remark about 'Defenders of Justice' as soon as he pushed the door open. Even without such hints, it was obvious that Brian was getting pissed off by Justin's behaviour.

As if to wake him up from his pondering, Justin felt a slap on his upper arm. Seeing as it was his and Cody's sign that something was going on, he looked sharply at him and noticed that he was pointing across the street into an abandoned valley. Even before he'd looked there himself, Justin immediately understood by the way his eyes were fixed on the view and his mouth set into a tight line that something serious was going on.

Four well-built men were hovering above a guy lying on the ground, his leopard-patterned T-shirt and tight black pants streaked with blood. Even from across the street, Justin could easily hear his desperate pleas for them to stop and quiet painful gasps, which suggested that the bashers hadn't wasted any time talking and managed to inflict major injuries. If it were possible, Justin could've sworn that the coppery smell of the blood which was smeared all over the victim's face wafted to him even from across the street. He knew that if he actually weren't used to such a sight, he would probably be quite sick by now. As it was, he only clenched his jaw in anger and glanced over at Cody, who was looking in the direction of the scene with a furious expression.

Before one of the hulks could connect his raised foot with the stomach of the thin guy who had his bloodied face pressed to the cement as if he finally decided to give up, Justin heard Cody's aggressive: "Hey! What the fuck are you doing?" and saw him dash to the other side of the street with a clear intention of confronting the situation. The man stopped with his leg in mid-air and instead cast a hateful look in Cody's direction.

Justin went after his partner while stealing a quick glance around himself to see if there wasn't anyone else to potentially help them. The whole block seemed to have undergone an evacuation from whatever natural disaster was awaiting Pittsburgh and Justin even started to doubt whether they were still in Liberty Avenue. He has never seen it in such a deserted state, especially not during the night when the streets usually bubbled with life. So it seemed that Cody has truly managed to find the less frequented part of the town.

_Fuck__, _was allJustinthought as soon as he and Cody drew near to the scene. The four men clearly preferred spending their afternoons in a fitness centre to reading books and sipping tea. He wouldn't be that surprised if they were also well-acquainted with a wonder called steroids which have surely helped them with building the massive musculature that showed from beneath their clothes.

"You came for a free face lift too, fags?" one of them sneered, his meaty lips twisting into an ugly gleeful grimace. Justin didn't answer, because he was too focused on carefully observing the movements of the other three men which moved to stand behind the supposed head honcho of their unfortunate gang.

Justin felt Cody tense up next to him and he clearly saw that his jaw muscles were tightly fixed. It was obvious that his partner was assessing the situation, realising just like Justin had a while ago that even with their utility knives, pepper sprays, truncheons and tasers that Cody somehow managed to acquire for their little organisation, they were at a disadvantage when it came down to body build and no amount of weapons or boxing training could make the difference even. It was also worth the mention that they were outnumbered.

"We came to do some adjustments to _your_ ugly mugs, you fuckers," Cody said with an unconcealed anger in his voice, practically spitting out the last insult at the four jocks in front of them.

The one who'd spoken before snorted condescendingly and made it clear that he thought they couldn't do a camel shit to him or his beta dogs.

Justin felt a rush of adrenaline in his veins as he looked down at the beaten up guy who whimpered in the pain on the ground and struggled to move, although it was obvious that he had too many broken bones to do so. His first instinct was to crouch down and try to help him, but before he could actually do it, he realised that it would be a grave mistake – he would be leaving himself vulnerable to a potential attack which would surely come, sooner or later.

The weak alley light that came only from a feeble lamppost illuminated the victim's swollen face and the red puddle of the blood underneath him, which Justin smelled for real this time. A pipe that led into the alley from one of the nearest third-class diners constantly pumped a rush of grease and oil smelling air that made him feel sick. It seemed so strange to Justin that even if their scene was that of an action-overfilled blockbuster with Bruce Willis as the protagonist, the surrounding world continued with its crazy pace onward. Except for the eerie silence, that was. It mixed with the tension in the air and Justin was sure that one would be able to hear a pin drop on the ground if some do-gooder from the nearest flats decided to throw it from his window just because he'd get a sudden urge to do so.

The adrenaline apparently made his mind wander into strange spheres of thought.

"Cock-suckers like you should just die," one of the lower dogs in the jock hierarchy growled at them with a teeth-baring sneer and there was so much pure, unconcealed hatred in those words that if Justin was more of a coward, he would back off by the sheer force of it.

He felt his own blood rush in his veins instead, fuelled by the sheer power of the anger at the words and by the image of Chris Hobbs, sweeping the floor in the hospice while telling Justin he hoped he would get AIDS and die. His hateful face swam in front of his eyes and even after all those years, Justin could still clearly see the outlines of the features of his former classmate who wouldn't hesitate to kill him just because he was different. Justin felt rage bubble inside him at the thought and he clenched his fists, preparing himself to attack. He would show the world that he refused to play the role of the victim.

Just after his hand tightened around the taser under his coat and he fixed his jaw firmly, one of the bashers made a sudden movement towards him, his eyes fierce and clearly determined. It was obvious he wouldn't do things half-heartedly.

Justin has never really been hit by someone head-on and actually managed to stay conscious, but now he wondered whether he was supposed to feel the blow before actually seeing it. The punch into his ribs was so unexpected that he hadn't even found the time to react before a powerful fist connected with his ribcage and practically made him feel like he was a deer that didn't jump away from the headlights of a ton-weighing truck in time. Before he could even get some semblance of control over the situation, the taser had been knocked out of his hand and he doubled over in pain. The force of the attack left him breathless and as he desperately gasped for air, he felt spit trickle from his mouth on the pavement.

Another kick made contact with his lower back and before he even knew it, he was on all fours, doubled over in pain and making friends with the cement ground underneath. Somewhere on the right, he could hear Cody shouting, but everything was out of focus for Justin and the jumbled words didn't make any sense to him. He felt a warm thick liquid under one of his hands and as he raised it to his eyes, it turned out to be the blood of either Justin or the man they had been trying to save. He was lying a few feet away from him, his face twisted in pain and his body lying helplessly on the ground.

Justin attempted to stand up, but before he even managed to raise himself on his knees, he got a full-strength kick right into his face that sent him tumbling backwards. He could taste copper in his mouth and his eyes were covered by the same liquid he had seen on his hand seconds ago. The blows continued to rain on him from every direction and almost all his attempts to stand up and not become a beaten-up victim were halted by muscled limbs that pushed him back down.

It was going to be a long night.

And he wasn't so sure that he would make it for the curfew anymore.

* * *

Brian was waiting.

With a half-burnt cigarette in one hand, a half-drank glass of Jim Beam in the other, his legs propped on the table in front of him and stealing glances at the computer screen behind him that displayed the time in huge blue digital numbers, he was waiting.

He wasn't waiting for something grand to happen as most people would in such a sacred silence – he surely didn't expect the Apocalypse to come so soon nor did he expect aliens to pay him a visit in his loft. No, he was waiting for someone. Specifically, that certain _someone_ was a little blond twat who has just broken their established, middle-class, let's-play-that-I'm-your-teenage-kid curfew that Brian, Brian_ fucking_ Kinney, has never, ever broken. _Fucking curfew._

Or rather: _fuck the curfew_ because he was sure that's what Justin was thinking right now.

He took another swing from his glass and flicked the long line of the ash that has gathered at the end of his unused cigarette on the ground. It created an almost mystical pattern on the floor. He observed it for a while as he took a long drag from his cig. The smoke filled his lungs with familiarity and he looked at the computer screen once again.

3:46

He would sit on his ass until 3:50 and then he would go looking for Justin somewhere in the deep recesses of Pittsburgh and its concealed alleys. And when he'd find him (because no matter what, he would), he'd grip his damn ear and drag him back to the loft, even kicking and screaming.

Normally, Brian wouldn't give a shit about acting like a mother hen and just assume that the idiot was in some backroom, having a good time while getting his cock sucked. But with Justin's newly acquired ambitions of becoming the Liberty Avenue's hero and him hanging out with the fucking Pink Rose, or whatever the fuck was the name of that group of his, he couldn't be so sure that he wasn't actually getting his ass beaten up in some dead end instead of getting his dick tended to.

Brian wasn't exactly happy about Justin hanging out with that particular group. Sure, the shaven head was hot as fuck and he was even willing to disregard the horrendous combination of a pink T-shirt and camo pants as a momentary lapse of judgement, but he couldn't stop worrying about the violence and the fights. Yes, it was the truth that Brian Kinney was actually worried, although even to Brian himself it seemed like a script written by the most crazed screenwriter of the whole Hollywood. It was all because he could still see Justin's sunshine smile as he turned around on Brian's desperate shout and he could still see the baseball bat that connected with his head with a sickening sound. The desperation of the moment couldn't be described in anything else than in the blood that oozed from Justin's head, cold cement underneath the two of them and Brian's hopeless pleas for the world to spare his Sunshine.

3:50

He would give Justin five more minutes and then he would sweep the whole Liberty Avenue if he had to. Brian has been actually putting off his departure in this manner from the moment the computer grinned at him with numbers 3:24, not because he didn't want to go searching for Justin, but because he didn't want to miss him coming home. It would be a shitty situation if Justin came back to the loft just to find it completely empty while Brian would be on a mighty quest to find him somewhere under the paper-recycling bins in the middle of the town. The result would be very poor, for the lack of a better word.

Just as the 3:53 changed to 3:54 and Brian put down his glass and was preparing to grab his car keys, he heard the familiar rattle of the lift that was rising up slowly. The invisible hands that had been gripping his chest tightly until now suddenly loosened their hold and he sighed heavily. He imagined Justin's nervous face and fidgeting hands as he was rising up in the lift and Brian really hoped that he had some grandiose story about having to save a little helpless girl from the fire that erupted out of nowhere in some flat that Justin had been coincidentally walking next to. Otherwise Brian wasn't feeling very merciful tonight.

As he heard the tell-tale click of the lift and then almost painfully slow sound of the lift's wooden door sliding up, he took a last swing from his glass of Jim Beam and strived to put a look of indifference on his face.

He managed to do so just in time before there was a rattle of keys in the lock and the loft door was slid open with a metallic creak. He didn't turn round to look at Justin from his position on the sofa and he was sure that Justin could only see his silhouette, too, because the lights in the loft were off. The only illumination was that of the outside street light seeping in through the windows and the soft, always-present blue glow.

Justin took a sharp intake of breath and closed the door behind him, obviously realising that Brian was pissed off by his posture and the fact that he hadn't turned around.

For a moment there was just deep silence, the only audible sounds that of the traffic outside and Justin's loud breaths. Brian noticed that they were more laboured than usually as if he had just returned from a jogging exercise. He still didn't look at him - the hell was he going to make it easy for the little brat.

"Behold and rejoice," he said sarcastically with a fake pomp and stood up, "the lost boy has been found!" He padded nonchalantly across the floor just in his Diesel jeans towards the bar to refill his glass, still not looking at Justin, who was standing surprisingly quietly in the shadows of the door. Brian wouldn't be able to see much of him even if he wanted to, although he saw him flinch at his words.

He could feel Justin's eyes following him as he moved, but he still didn't spare him a glance. Brian waited for any kind of verbal reaction and when it became apparent that he wouldn't get it, he poured himself another glass of his old friend Jim and downed it in a gulp. The taste of the whisky was strong on his tongue and he was starting to feel a bit intoxicated, even though he could surely still walk a straight line and talk clearly. He's always prided himself on being able to hold his alcohol well and now he felt that his body could still cope with much more – he was miles away from crossing the point where he would get shit-face drunk. Despite all this, he had to admit he was glad he actually hadn't had to go search for Justin and drive the car, in case the police didn't have anything better to do than patrol Pittsburgh at four in the morning.

And so as a way of celebrating that, he poured himself yet another glass and observed the sink for a while as if expecting Justin's head to suddenly pop out of the drain. He shuddered - the thought in itself was horrifying. He turned around and said mockingly to Justin, who was still playing the silent martyr, "So? Don't you have a grand adventure to tell?" Brian knew that Justin understood it for what it truly was: an invitation for an excuse. At this point in their relationship, he was fully capable of understanding the code language that was Brian Kinney.

There was a short, suffocating silence and Brian categorised it as a preparation period – for what, he wasn't sure. Justin's shadow shifted and he spoke hesitantly, his tone of voice both apologetic and defiant. Brian was pretty sure that Justin was the only one who could combine the two and pull it off. "I'm sorry about being late."

So, apparently no fucking grand adventure to tell. No excuse.

"Yeah, _no_," Brian said and picked the glass from the counter while he turned around to look at Justin. "You know how I feel about the whole sorry business."

And then, facing Justin, he finally noticed it: the blood and the hunched back and the protective hold Justin had on his left hand as if he wanted to - _needed_ to - shield it because it already hurt and he didn't want to worsen the pain. Brian noticed all of it only thanks to a slight change in the illumination as Justin shifted his weight from one foot to the other, but it was enough.

His heart missed a beat as if to tell him that he was an idiot for not having seen it sooner. Justin actually _got _beaten up. And he got beaten up pretty badly.

His breath hitched before he blew up. "Jesus fucking Christ, Justin!" he shouted and marched over to where Justin was standing. He couldn't help but notice that he flinched a little as Brian drew nearer. And he hated it. He hated that Justin was hurt and that he, Brian, actually made him flinch.

"What the fuck?" he exclaimed as he stood in front of him, wanting to grab his shoulders and feel his body being warm and full of blood. He wanted to know that Justin was really there and alright and alive and not lying injured on the cold garage ground. There was a bit of dry blood on his forehead and the sickening familiarity of that image seemed to make the invisible hands around Brian's chest tighten their hold once more. But no matter how much he actually wanted to, he didn't grab Justin - he seemed far too vulnerable for any kind of physical contact.

Justin kept his eyes firmly fixed on the ground when he spoke, "I and Cody… I mean, we got into a bit of a scuffle."

Brian tried to keep his anger and voice down when he replied. Yelling at Justin never did much good. "That must have been one heck of a scuffle," he said and his voice definitely wasn't as steady as he'd hoped it would be.

Justin didn't answer. Either he didn't have any kind of retort or he just couldn't find the right words to express it. His face was scrunched up in pain and by the way that he was cradling his left hand to his body, Brian assumed that it had to be broken.

"I'm alright," he said with certain finality, although it was quite obvious that he was lying - and doing a poor job at it, too. Brian couldn't even manage a snort.

"Yeah, I can _just _see that," he snapped back, indicating the way Justin stood like a frightened, injured animal by the door.

"You know what, Brian?" Justin started and moved past him with a noticeable limp and careful pace. He whimpered painfully when his foot landed on the floor a bit more forcefully than he probably thought it would and Brian was right there behind him, prepared to catch him if he fell down. Justin swayed a little to the side and then chose that exact moment to turn around and look straight at Brian with defiance in his eyes. He was getting angry. "I just don't understand what your fucking problem is."

"What's _my_ fucking problem?" That little twat was really testing his patience. "I worry about you the whole fucking night." So much for keeping it a secret. "Not knowing whether your little blond ass is alright." Justin's expression softened a bit at that and he looked downward. "And you still have the fucking balls to ask _me_ what's _my_ fucking problem? Well, I'll tell you what it is: it's this new hero complex of yours which makes you feel so fucking obligated to save every damned damsel in distress in 10 kilometre radius. In case you haven't noticed, you're no fucking Superman."

Anger flared in Justin's eyes and Brian had no doubts that if he hadn't been injured, he would have stomped his foot on the floor in exasperation. As it was, he just made an enraged step to the right and then blew up, "That's so not the fucking point."

"It's not? Then what is? Enlighten me."

Justin was clearly uncomfortable as he gazed unfocusedly at something behind Brian's back. He didn't turn around because he knew that there was nothing there and that Justin was only trying to arrange his thoughts. "The point is not being the victim. The point is helping others since I couldn't help myself." Brian knew that there was too much fucking sincerity behind those words, too much fucking emotion and too much fucking pain. That, however, didn't mean he had to step down and let Justin continue killing himself.

"You won't help anyone by getting yourself beaten up to a bloody pulp, nor will it make the bashing disappear."

Justin's head snapped and he looked sharply at Brian. "Well, fuck, hasn't it ever crossed your mind that maybe this was my way of coping?"

"Then it's a damn lousy way, let me tell you that."

"Fuck you," he retorted, but the words lacked any real power behind them - they were just like a peach without the pulp, all dried up and hopeless. The exhaustion in Justin's voice was clear and he heavily leaned against the sofa behind him as if he couldn't stand upright by himself anymore. Brian had to take him to the hospital right away.

Instead of voicing that thought, however, he said, "I thought you got over it."

Justin's eyes widened and by the expression on his face, it was obvious that he wanted to punch something very much at that moment. Preferably Brian. "Got over it? Here's a newsflash for you, Mr Smart: when someone bashes your fucking brains in, you just won't get over it with a bowl of chicken soup! It's not some fucking cold, for fuck's sake!" he snapped and then put his head in his good hand in a gesture of such pure despair that it _almost_ made Brian feel guilty. Almost. "What the hell, you just don't understand. You don't even try to."

Brian's voice turned a little bit gentler, but kept its unyieldingness, "No, I actually really tried to understand, Justin. I gave you some space and thought that if being in this whole Pink Panther, or whatever the fuck, business would help you, then so be it. But I didn't sign up for seeing you come back all battered like some damned rag doll."

"Maybe you _shouldn't_ have 'signed up' for anything then, if it's such a bother."

"Maybe."

For a second there, a flash of hurt crossed Justin's face and for that single second Brian considered explaining to him that he hadn't meant it the way it ended up sounding, but the second was gone and Justin was turning away from him.

"Fuck this. Fuck _you._" He walked as quickly as possible, which wasn't very much, towards the front of the sofa, but before he could sit down, Brian spoke up, ignoring Justin's last words.

"Don't sit down. I'm taking you to the hospital," he ordered firmly, already moving towards his closet to take out a shirt.

Justin's voice cut him short. "The fuck you are."

No fucking way. Justin was so _not_ being difficult about this. "That's not up for a discussion. We're going right away." It was definite. As he turned back towards the closet to find some shirt and put it on so that he wouldn't frolic around the hospital just in his jeans, Justin spoke up resolutely again.

"No."

Brian turned sharply around and paced aggressively across the floor of the loft to the sofa. He stopped right in front of Justin and waited until he met his eyes. "Have you seen yourself? You look like some bizarre Halloween mask. I can't even imagine the reason why you haven't already gone to the hospital."

"I'm fine," Justin answered and as if to prove his point, he tried to shrug his shoulders. It ended up looking like a painful gesture of a doll that has just been cut off from its strings. His face was scrunched up and he let out a small whimper. "And I'm not going."

At that point, Brian was on the verge of tearing his hair out in frustration. Instead, he said calmly, "I'll take you by the force if I have to, just for your information."

The blue eyes widened slightly as if the view of another pain was too much. "You can't force me into anything." And as if to show Brian that if he tried to take him, the sofa would hold onto him with all its cushion-power Justin sunk deeper into the plush, probably believing that it could protect him if needed. He huffed.

Brian knew the look on Justin's face: it was the good old stubborn refusal to budge. At times like this, it was really annoying that Justin could be just as much of a headstrong mule as Brian. He sighed deeply. It was obvious that Justin refused to go to the hospital not because he believed he was okay, but because he wanted to prove it to Brian. Just as a matter of principle, he didn't want to cave in and show Brian that he was right. It became apparent that maybe getting angry at him in the first place hadn't been the best approach. Brian had to change the tactic if he wanted to persuade him.

"Fine. Whatever the fuck," he said, feigning disinterest and resignation. He walked away from the sofa and towards the bed with a nonchalant shrug. "I'm going to bed."

* * *

Brian was waiting. With his face pressed into the pillow, his breaths evened out and his body covered with satin coverlet, he was waiting.

For the last hour or so, he had been pretending to be asleep while actually listening carefully to the sounds coming from the living room. At first, Justin was so quiet that Brian wasn't sure whether he was still in the room. He assumed, though, that he simply continued to sit on the sofa in the darkness, probably engaged in his own thoughts. After a while of silence, Brian could clearly hear the sound of soft steps across the floor and then a hum of water running in the sink. Justin was probably cleaning off the blood from his face. More silence and then clinking of glasses and cupboards – he was probably taking out the painkillers. After that, he started pacing around the room to and fro, although Brian really didn't understand how he could think that it was a good idea in his injured state.

Suddenly, the steps stopped in front of the stairs that led to the platform. Justin took a deep breath and Brian heard him come up to the foot of the bed as quietly as he could. Brian continued to breathe evenly and pretended that he was asleep. He kept his face away from Justin's eyes because even if he was quite a good actor, he wasn't sure that he would be able to withstand this one.

"Brian?" Justin's voice was barely audible. If Brian had been truly asleep, the words wouldn't have even been able to worm their way into his consciousness. To keep up the pretence, he didn't even stir. Justin would have to try a bit harder than that.

There was a nervous silence and Brian could practically _hear_ Justin's fidgeting. He felt the air shift as he moved closer to the general direction of Brian's head, but still not near enough. "Brian?" he called out again, this time his voice a bit more louder, but still not loud enough to wake Brian from any sex-filled dream he was supposedly having.

After Justin shifted his weight from one foot to the other a few times, he apparently realised that he hadn't managed to work his way into Brian's resting mind and turned around, probably ready to give up and resume his restless pacing.

Just as he was about to step on the first stair, Brian decided to quit being cruel. "What?" he called out into the darkness and sat up on the bed, facing Justin, who had jumped in surprise at the unexpected response.

He looked at Brian slowly, hesitantly, before fully raising his gaze to meet his. "Would you please take me to the hospital?"

And just like that, Brian skipped the distance between the two of them in few quick strides and pulled Justin into an embrace. It was a very light one, though, because Brian took care to be mindful of his injuries. After a while of relishing in the warmth that was emanating from Justin's body, he kissed his cheek and pulled away, looking deeply into his blue eyes. Brian could smell the blood on Justin's pale skin and see the bruises that were already forming on his face and arms. "Of course I will," he whispered and caressed Justin's cheek. Justin moved into the gesture and sighed contently.

The silence became their standard once again and there were no words exchanged between them as Brian dressed up and Justin made a failed attempt at it. After unsuccessfully trying to put some jacket on and making tears spring at the corners of his eyes from the pain, he finally gave up on trying and just accepted Brian's black leather jacket that he draped over Justin's shoulders. He pressed his nose into the leather and took a deep breath as if to fill his lungs with Brian's scent forever.

To show him some support, Brian gently put one of his arms around Justin's battered body and led him like that the whole way towards the car where he was forced to let go. They drove in comfortable silence all the way to the hospital with Justin's head leaning against Brian's shoulder. He moved into the touch and just for that sinlge moment, the constant warmth of Justin's skin was all that he truly needed.

* * *

Well, alright. Maybe Justin was willing to admit that he'd underestimated the anger Brian would bestow on him and maybe he'd also underestimated his determination to get him examined in the hospital as soon as they got there.

The only comforting thought was that Justin wasn't the only one who had done the grave mistake – the doctors had, too. After they got to the waiting room (it was over five in the morning just for the record), Justin finally got the answer to his question where all the citizens of Pittsburgh had evacuated the few hours before – into the hospital. The place was the mayhem of people in various stages of mutilation from minor injuries to decapitated heads and falling out bowels that have decided that five in the morning – repeat, five in the fucking morning – was the best time to get checked something they've been living with practically their whole lives. Well, okay, maybe Justin was exaggerating a little and there were only two or three other people with nothing that seemed too urgent (then what the fuck were they doing in a hospital at five in the morning?) waiting, but still, the point stood.

After it had been announced by an out-of-a-grave-arisen doctor that Justin would have to wait before the three other people from which the worst injured was a woman with a broken nail (alright, maybe he was exaggerating a bit again) were examined, Brian calmly stood up, took the zombie-like doctor by his arm, pulled him to the side and told him something that made Justin jump ahead in the queue with the speed of a starving cheetah.

Never underestimate the power of a pressured Brian Kinney who spots a frightened antelope. Justin chuckled.

And, alright, yes, he would be the first one to admit that maybe his mind was working in a very interesting way at the moment, but he could always put the blame on the elephant-like dosage of painkillers they'd pumped into him at the hospital. The medicine made him feel all groggy and weird, but on the other hand, it lessened the pain from the injuries, which the doctors had described as 'serious, but not serious enough for him to need to stay in the hospital overnight'. The injuries were quite bad, alright – his left hand was broken, as expected, and had been put into a temporary sling which would be exchanged for the regular orthopaedic cast next day. His two lower ribs were cracked, which was quite a surprise for Justin because by the pain he'd felt when he walked, his first analysis was that someone had tried to pry his whole torso open with bare hands, then poked around his ribs just for the shits and giggles, broke them all, impaled them on his lungs and then tried to sew it all back on with a rusty stapler. There was also a nasty gash on his forehead, which had been bandaged without any stitches needed, thankfully. He also had numerous scratches and bruises all over his body.

Justin was surprised that the doctors hadn't wanted to keep him in the hospital for an observation, but the examining doctor had declared that it was good he had got to the hospital so soon and that it would've been much worse if he had continued to put it off. At those words, Brian's eyes pierced Justin's back and he didn't dare turn around as the unsaid accusation hanged in the air:_ you could've been so much better if you had gone to the hospital right away._

To be perfectly frank, Justin didn't really know the reason why he hadn't gone to the hospital right away. Or, well, to be honest, he did – the thought never even crossed his mind. After he and Cody somehow managed to get the upper hand over the jocks, putting the tasers to a really good use, they called an ambulance for the injured victim and waited until it arrived. The paramedics told Justin to hop in the vehicle as well, but he just shook his head and went away with only the thought of getting back to the loft as soon as possible in his mind.

As he was sitting in the moving car with Brian on their way back to the loft now, he started regretting his harsh actions because he knew that it could've saved the two of them from having the fight they'd had earlier in the loft. And maybe that would've been quite enough.

Brian drove with his gaze firmly fixed on the road in front of them without saying a single word, his hands holding the steering wheel tightly. Justin kept quiet as well and embraced the semi-comfortable silence they lapsed into once again. Just when he thought that they were going to spend the whole ride without saying a word, he realised with dread that there was something in his throat which was trying to push its way out of his mouth and his heart, not leaving him even the slightest chance to resist.

His breath hitched as he struggled to say whatever it was that he needed to say. "I -" he started, but before he could continue, his whole body shook with a sob that sounded like a mini volcano eruption. His eyes widened and he wanted to stop because _fuck if he would cry in front of Brian_, but another huge sob clawed its way out of his throat like an unstoppable avalanche and before he could do anything about it, the volcano had truly erupted and the magma swept everything in its way.

His whole body heaved with sobs and the tears ran down his face onto the upholstery of the car where they left huge wet splotches that resembled polka dots. It was the first time Justin's cried so hard in front of anybody. Feeling ashamed, he tried to hastily wipe away the tears with his hand, but it was no use. The damage has already been done.

He half-expected Brian to start laughing, half-expected him to ignore the whole drama, but what he didn't expect was him draping his hand around Justin's shoulders protectively, kissing him on the salt-soaked cheek softly and telling him in a gentle voice that it was alright.

In that moment, Justin completely lost it and started crying even harder. He put his face into his hand, leaned into the comfort that was Brian and cried from the sheer power of the moment. He was overcome with the feeling of love.

Justin wept because the world was cruel and because he loved Brian way too much.

Heck. It must have been the painkillers.

* * *

By the time they arrived at the loft, Justin has already calmed down. The sobs stopped and all that was left were salt trails indicating the path the tears had taken when they slid down his face. He wasn't shaking anymore and that was quite a huge achievement in itself for him at the moment, really.

Justin let Brian walk into the loft first and close the door behind the both of them, but he didn't move very far into the room himself. It felt just like the first time they'd met in there – Justin standing nervously at the entrance, not sure what to do next and Brian up ahead in the kitchen, opening his fridge to take out a bottle of mineral water. Except this time, he didn't pour it all over his naked torso, but walked over to Justin and handed it to him, silently ordering him to drink. It was different now. As Justin took a sip, he realised that it was too fucking different. And he wasn't sure whether it was for the better or for the worse. He wasn't sure whether he wouldn't rather be the 17 years old virgin twink who kept on blabbering about his allergies and diarrhoea and vomiting while he admired Brian like a god and believed that he had no flaws.

The night behind the windows was apparently slowly handing over the reign to the morning light as the skies turned a softer hue of the blue. The loft became brighter with the approaching dawn, although Justin knew from all the times he'd laid with Brian in the bed after a late-night round of sex that it would still take over an hour for the sun to rise completely.

Brian walked over to the sofa and leaned against it with a heavy sigh, making it obvious that the morning adventure had left him tired as well. Justin didn't follow him and kept on standing at the entrance. He still had something to say. For a moment, he almost expected Brian to actually ask 'coming or going?' with a confident smirk, but he did nothing of the sort and just calmly regarded Justin from his position. It looked like he was expecting him to say something, although Justin wasn't sure what exactly. Either way, he did speak up, not because he felt obligated to, but because he needed to say what he wanted to.

"I'm sorry about this," he said, keeping his tone apologetic and making sure that he was looking straight into Brian's eyes.

Already playing out Brian's response in his head, he almost didn't catch the next words that surprisingly were not the expected phrase of 'sorry is bullshit'.

"About what?"

Justin's breath hitched. "About," he started, trying to keep his voice steady, "about all of this." He gestured around, as if his apology had something to do with their home. And maybe it did. Maybe it really did. "About you having to drive me to the hospital at five in the morning, about you having to worry, about me being an irresponsible idiot. About…" he left the last one unfinished like an empty spot in a puzzle.

Brian just continued to look at Justin long enough for him to start feeling nervous and then sighed deeply. "Come here," he said and then as if to make his invitation official, he extended his arms.

Justin didn't know how he managed it with his injuries, but in a less than a second, he trotted over to where Brian was standing and was immediately wrapped in a warm, secure embrace. Admittedly, it was a bit awkward because of the bandage on Justin's torso and the sling on his hand, but it was all that he could ever wish for.

"None of that matters," Brian whispered into his ear softly. "What matters is that you're alright."

Justin's heart swelled – in his own way, in his Brian fucking Kinney way, he has just told him that he loved him. It was probably as close as Brian would ever get to telling him so. And Justin was completely okay with that.

"As alright as one can be with cracked ribs and a broken hand," Justin said with a painful chuckle. He withdrew himself from the embrace because the bruises were starting to announce themselves.

Brian smiled at his words, but after a second that was way too short, his face turned serious as if he'd remembered something that he momentarily forgot. "I was so fucking worried about you." His eyes were closed, his face scrunched up and his voice full of pain as he said those words. And Justin could only imagine. He could only imagine.

"I know," he answered because really, what else could he say? "I'm an idiot."

Brian chuckled. "Well, I can't argue with that." He earned himself a sharp jab into the ribs.

They were silent for a while, both of them lost in their own thoughts. When Brian decided to speak, his face was pale and he was clearly exhausted. "Promise me that you won't ever do anything like that again. Promise me that you'll be fine."

Justin breathed out sharply. "I can't," he said. "I can't promise you something like that." Brian scowled. "No one can. No one can promise that they will be fine. Because no one knows whether they won't die the very next day. All I can promise you is that tonight, I will be fine. That's all."

Brian didn't answer and instead turned away from Justin. As he sat down on the sofa, his face was concealed and for a moment, Justin thought that Brian might be angry or disappointed or some appalling combination of the two. But then the moment passed and he turned around and smiled at him sadly.

"_Tonight_ is a very short time, though," Brian observed, looking away from Justin at the light blue skies that signalled a slow but sure arrival of the dawn.

Justin grinned and sat down next to Brian. "But didn't you know that dawn comes later at winter?" He was being both mocking and serious.

"Not late enough." Brian smiled at Justin. "Not nearly enough," he whispered and kissed him on the lips in a way that wasn't needy or passionate, but sweet and caring. It was a six-in-the-morning kind of kiss, which was worth freezing and replaying over and over. As it was, it lasted far too shortly.

Brian pulled Justin to his side and offered his shoulder in a wordless gesture. Justin curled into him and put his head on his shoulder, relishing in the warmth and the familiar smell of Jim Beam, tobacco and an unmistakeable something that was simply Brian. As he buried his face deeper into the curve of Brian's neck and felt the morning stubble scrape his cheek lightly, he wished for the morning to never come.

Brian closed his eyes and made a content sound deep in his throat, which sparked Justin's next thought. "Are we cuddling?" he asked, knowing that by using the C-word, he had almost literally thrust a dagger into Brian's heart.

"No," he said, a little bit too quickly and a little bit too defensively. "Shut up," he added before Justin even managed to open his mouth. Despite his tone and his words, Brian didn't pull away and instead tightened his grip around Justin's shoulders. He still had his eyes fixed on the paling morning sky outside.

Justin grinned because despite what Brian had said, both of them knew that cuddling was _exactly_ what they were doing.

And he smiled because he also knew that whatever tomorrow would bring for both of them, they would be just fine tonight.

**The End**


End file.
